


color me blue

by cosmicwoosan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Falling In Love, Fluff, Growing Up Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Marriage Proposal, Metaphors, Synesthesia, and me trying to be artistic, just a lot of fluff, san is a soft synesthete, wooyoung is smitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwoosan/pseuds/cosmicwoosan
Summary: To San, Wooyoung is a baby blue, a refreshing lemon ice pop on a hot summer day, the scent of a freshly-mowed lawn, and a cotton candy cloud.To Wooyoung, San is a best friend, a lover, and a soulmate.And even though Wooyoung can never understand what goes on in San’s brain, he can’t ignore the fluttering butterflies in his bones whenever San talks so wondrously about his intermingling senses that all come together to create the magnificent being that captivated Wooyoung’s own bland, separated senses, and in turn, stole his heart.or, Wooyoung is head-over-heels in love with San and his unique, incredible, beautiful mind.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 18
Kudos: 235





	color me blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wooyoungies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wooyoungies/gifts).



> just a little thing i wrote because synesthesia is a thing i experience :) definitely a lot fluffier (and very very very sappy) than i'm used to but i felt i'd give it a shot!
> 
> the time kinda jumps around, the asterisk in the beginning is a jump to the past, and the asterisk towards the end brings it back to the present. the dashes are all events in the past just at different times. 
> 
> dedicated to lei because her works are literal masterpieces that give me so much inspiration and i thank her so so much for that

Wooyoung is really bad with words, always has been, and probably always will be. He wishes he were better at writing down his feelings because he has a lot of them. He knows that if he were better at getting those thoughts down on a piece of paper or typed out on a Word document, he could finally deliver them in a way that’s coherent and consistent for San to read.

San, on the other hand, is really good with words, always has been, and probably always will be. There’s a lot that goes on in that brain of his, and while a lot of it doesn’t make sense to Wooyoung and probably never will, there’s something extremely poetic about the way San speaks and writes. Somehow, his brain is able to generate descriptions and his mouth is able to keep up. His words come out in wisps of wonder, gazing up at whatever is above him, whether it be the sky or a ceiling, San always looks _up._

And _god_ , that smile of his.

San always described Wooyoung’s smile as a kitten’s meow, a tiger lily blooming midsummer, and a ray of endless moonlight. Wooyoung wishes he could describe San’s smile in a similar way, but even if he did, those words would mean nothing as they are just words, because the gears in Wooyoung’s brain don’t turn the same way as San’s.

He imagines San’s gears being covered in stars, flowers, rainbows, and everything that’s beautiful in life. Because that’s what San is.

Beautiful. A quite overused word, but it still holds so much meaning, at least to Wooyoung. Hell, the word itself is beautiful, and he can’t even begin to describe how that is.

Wooyoung has gone through a lot of dictionaries, both tangible and online, to try and find synonyms for beautiful that sound just as beautiful, but none of them do. There isn’t another word that rolls off the tongue as easily and exquisitely as beautiful does.

Even though Wooyoung is bad with words, he can definitely talk about San, how beautiful he is, and so, so much more. He can go on for hours, tell complete strangers about their past adventures together, about how San’s mind works and how his senses overlap, but no one can understand. Not even Wooyoung. Still, Wooyoung doesn’t _care_ what other people think, because San is brilliant; his mind works in ways that the everyday person can’t comprehend, and _that_ is beautiful.

Where Wooyoung can talk for hours about San, San can talk infinitely about Wooyoung. He can compare him to everything in existence. San always giggles whenever Wooyoung asks him to compare him to things that aren’t so pleasant, to which San says, “How could I do that when you’re everything good in the world?”

The world itself isn’t that good, Wooyoung thinks, but even then, San compares his brain to a planet, unexplored to everything and everybody but itself. San tells him that Wooyoung is his world, _everything_ , and assures him it’s okay that his planet remains uninhabited and unexplored because at least Wooyoung _knows_ about it, accepts its existence and uniqueness, and loves him just the same.

“What color is your planet?” Wooyoung asks, feeling as if he already knows the answer.

“Purple!” San answers enthusiastically, that bright, _beautiful_ smile appearing on his face once more. “That’s what I am from head to toe. Purple. Different shades of it, though. I think my planet is more like, an electric purple though. The further down, the more unsaturated the purple gets, but that’s okay. The colors become a lot duller the closer they are to the ground.”

“What color is the ground?”

San snickers mischievously, leans into Wooyoung’s ear, and whispers, “It’s brown, Wooyoungie, and it feels a lot like soft sand.”

When Wooyoung glances down, they’re on the shore of a beach, quite literally sat on soft sand. Wooyoung scoffs, smacking San’s arm playfully.

As the pair comes down from their laughter, Wooyoung asks, “What color am I again?”

San looks at him, tilting his head. He’s told Wooyoung this plenty of times, but he still answers, “A baby blue.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You’re a baby blue. A lemon-flavored popsicle on a hot summer day after hours of playing outside on a fresh-cut lawn that smells just as vivid as the green it’s colored. And there’s a cloud, a pink cotton candy cloud where your brain is.”

Wooyoung beams, gazing out at the endless ocean as he makes a noise of endearment. “Do you know why I’m all those things?”

San hums as if to think. “You just are, Wooyoungie. You just _are._ You’re like a prism of all sorts of colors. A buffet that satisfies all tastes. And the colors smell like… well, you, Woo. You’re _you._ ” He looks at Wooyoung with stars in his eyes, such admiration and affection. And, well, Wooyoung comes up with his own comparison.

“If your brain is a planet, your eyes are stars.”

San smiles widely, proudly, and tackles Wooyoung to the ground. The sand puffs up in small particles once they land, and Wooyoung lets out a cough of surprise as his back hits the ground. San wraps his arms around Wooyoung’s shoulders, clinging onto him for dear life, and nestles his head into Wooyoung’s chest. “I know how much you love stars,” San murmurs into his skin.

“I do love stars,” Wooyoung says, “but there’s so much more to you than just your stars.”

San giggles, like a calming birdsong, and Wooyoung finally returns the embrace, arms sliding around San’s waist and hugging him tightly.

The dark sky above them is riddled with those tiny orbs of gas, such a simple yet complicated structure. It’s really not all that interesting when Wooyoung things about it, but they’re still so gorgeous to look at, light but not blinding, just like San.

The difference is that San _is_ interesting. His eyes, his stars, a deep brown, small and crinkly whenever he smiles, and a freckle sitting upon his left eyelid. He has a spotted neck, dotted with speckles that are just a tad darker than his natural skin color, honey, sweet sweet honey. And his dimples, those caves in his cheeks, are just so fucking _cute._ His skin, the thing that keeps him together, is so soft and supple, like a newly bloomed flower petal.

Wooyoung slips his hands under the hem of San’s shirt, finger’s curling around the skin on the base of San’s back. San exhales happily, further nuzzling his face into Wooyoung’s chest. “I wish there was a better way to say I love you,” Wooyoung whispers, a wish to the stars.

“I wish that too,” San says, breath warm against Wooyoung’s skin.

“You’re way better with words than I am,” Wooyoung half says, half chuckles. “I’m sure you could find a better way to say I love you. You always find better ways to say anything.”

“Even though you don’t and can’t understand half the things that come out of my mouth,” San quips, equally amused.

“Hey,” Wooyoung says, taking hold of San’s shoulders and lifting him off him ever so slightly. “I might not understand anything that you experience, but you don’t know how much I love to hear everything that you have to say. It’s so interesting. Everything about you is interesting. And I love you.”

“And you’re a sap.” San eventually overpowers Wooyoung’s hold (which Wooyoung was ready to give up anyway), and lands a kiss on his lips.

San has described kissing Wooyoung as a bright fuchsia. That an F major chord plays in the back of his brain. That mythical creatures become real and dance around his head just like the music notes do. San loves kissing Wooyoung.

“But I love you too.”

*

San’s brain has always worked differently from others’. He was five years old, a colorful toy xylophone placed in front of him during music class. He was handed a miniature mallet to hit the wooden bars with. They were the colors of the rainbow, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple (indigo be forgotten), just six notes, but when San tapped away at them, he created a cohesive melody.

Thoroughly impressed, the music teacher bent down and appeared by his side. “That sounds lovely, Sannie!” She praised him just like a mother would.

“Red,” San had said, hitting the purple bar.

“No, Sannie, that’s purple.”

San pouted, hitting the note again. “It sounds red.”

Baffled, the music teacher had asked him to tell him what the others sounded like. Red sounded like a swirl of pink and blue. Orange sounded like purple. Yellow sounded like yellow. Green sounded like red. Blue sounded like blue. Purple sounded like another shade of red, but five-year-old San didn’t have much color knowledge back then.

The shades of the bars didn’t match the colors he heard. Far from it, actually. San continued to hit the bars even as the class was dismissed because the music teacher gave him permission to stay behind and create whatever song he wanted. Then, she placed a piece of paper that she’d drawn an outline of the xylophone on and box of crayons next to him. “Sannie, can you color me a picture of what the xylophone notes look like?”

San nodded, digging through the sixty-four pack of crayons (the beloved box that only the rich popular kids seemed to have) and pulling out every shade of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple he could find. He chewed his lips as he created a palette of colors on the side of the page, testing out each color as he tried to find the best possible match for each block.

In the end, he’d colored in the blocks with the most accurate colors he could find in that sixty-four pack of crayons, and his teacher smiled proudly at him. “Sannie, you have a gift,” she’d told him.

With a rainbow-like array of colors splotched around the page, in the center was the drawing of the xylophone colored in with completely different colors than the original instrument.

When the parent-teacher conferences rolled around, San sat nervously between his parents as his music teacher praised him endlessly, telling them that he may be a successful musician in the works, and proudly showed them the picture of the xylophone.

“I believe your son experiences something called synesthesia,” the teacher said. “It’s where one’s senses overlap. For example, one may be able to see colors but also taste them. One may be able to smell food and see colors. In San’s case, he is able to hear notes and see colors.”

San’s parents looked at him with astonishment. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not a disorder or a mental illness,” the teacher went on. “It’s a unique experience that very few people have. Your son is one of a kind, Mr. and Mrs. Choi.”

And truly, he is.

“She was the start of it. She encouraged me all the time, gave me actual piano lessons after school so I could learn how to play and create legitimate melodies and arrangements. She even taught me music theory, which is how I learned what key signatures are and eventually got to know what each key signature sounds like,” San explained to Wooyoung one day while they were in high school.

Wooyoung had retained enough knowledge from his high school music courses to know what San was talking about. “The key signatures are almost the same as the note they start on.”

The two were sat at a piano, the bench barely being enough to hold both of them, but it wasn’t like they minded being arm-to-arm. They’d been much closer than that before. “So for example, E major.” San put his finger on the E, and the note rang through the room. “The note E sounds like yellow to me, like a sunflower’s yellow. But the scale itself—” San ran his fingers through the E major scale. “—is sort of a mix. It’s yellow, but it’s also green, like, the inside of a lime green.”

Wooyoung nodded, watching as San brought his left hand up to play a broken E major chord. “The E major chord is a brighter yellow than the single note’s is,” he said.

All Wooyoung could do was nod as he watched and listened to San explain the rest of the notes, white and black keys alike, and what colors he’d assigned them. Sensing Wooyoung’s confusion and inability to grasp the concept, San chuckled and played a C chord. “Would you like me to play you a song?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“You’re cute,” San had said, stealing Wooyoung’s breath right from his lungs as his fingers spread out across the band room’s piano.

Before he had the ability to steal Wooyoung’s breath away, Choi San was known as a musical prodigy, able to come up with any melody in any key signature on the spot. Very few people knew about San’s special ability, however, apart from Wooyoung, the band director, and a few of his teachers. The students viewed him as a master of his art, the shy music whiz who loved to trickle out tunes that floated around in his head in the form of colors, colors that nobody else saw but San. Those colors remained unspoken of, locked away in the inner workings of San’s planetal brain.

But there were also those who saw San for something very different, an introvert, a quiet kid that some even deemed the ‘special’ kind. The way that word rolled off their tongues was poisonous, a word that’s meant to describe the unique, but here, the kids at school saw San as nothing short of mentally impaired. For what reason, Wooyoung never knew. San was _special_ , the word meaning nothing but good things, and Wooyoung wanted to make sure San saw himself in that light instead of the shadows that the other kids desperately tried to shove him under because they felt threatened.

They felt threatened because nobody else was truly like San. They feared the anomalies, the unknown, and the unfamiliar. So they took what they feared, made it their weapon, and did their best to shoot San down.

San was truly like a mountain, just like he was named after. Title after title he’d been called, San kept playing, kept singing, kept _feeling._ He was _proud_ of everything he felt, saw, heard, tasted, and smelled. He knew he was special, _truly_ special, in all the right ways. He stood tall and proud, let his fingers glide along the piano keys, and played his heart out.

Wooyoung would always watch in awe whenever San played. They’d met in band class their first year of high school, with Wooyoung having played the flute and San the piano. San would often hide himself in the band room during lunch to practice his pieces, and Wooyoung, who barely practiced because he didn’t care all that much, would sit outside and listen. He’d much rather do that than eat in a lunchroom full of hormonal students who talk about gossip he didn’t care about.

One day, he’d been so immersed in his homework that he didn’t notice the piano’s melody stop, and the door swung open, knocking Wooyoung right in the knee. He yelped as the student revealed himself to be San, who gaped at him with apologetic and panicked eyes. He profusely apologized, to which Wooyoung just laughed and told him it was fine. Wooyoung apologized for being a bit of a weirdo, having confessed that he loved to listen to San play and would listen outside the door, but the mountain just smiled and invited him to a live session the next lunch period they had together.

The next day, they ate together on the band room floor, a bit rushed because Wooyoung was enthusiastic to hear San play right in front of him.

Looking back on it, that was probably the moment Wooyoung fell in love. He just didn’t know it at the time.

-

San had a lot of wall decorations in his room, none of which were posters of musicians or bands or models, but framed music sheets, information on music theory, and pieces of paper hammered into the wall with tacks that spilled color in the most brilliant and chaotic ways. A lot of it was watercolor, from what Wooyoung could tell. To him, they were just blotches of color on a blank piece of printer paper, no pencil, outline, or anything that would resemble a drawing. They were colors splattered onto paper, but instead of coagulating into one ugly mess of browns, they made _sense_ ; the color schemes worked, and the closer Wooyoung looked, he could tell that the colors were placed meticulously, carefully, in a way that _worked._

It really was art in Wooyoung’s eyes. He did, however, see how it could be viewed as just a bunch of paint splatters, but he knew San, he knew how his brain worked, and he knew that these colors were pieces of music.

San pointed at one with specks of silver glitter in it, the colors themselves being a mix of purple, green, red, and yellow, colors that shouldn’t work in Wooyoung’s eyes, but San somehow made it into a visually pleasing piece of art. “The glitter is there because this particular piece had a lot of staccato notes in it. That makes sense to you, right?” San asked.

Wooyoung nodded. Yes, that part made sense. Sometimes, San’s reasoning does make sense, such as some of his paintings having a bright red incorporated into them because those particular pieces sounded angry (but were also in the key of D minor, which is that shade of red too). But the other things…

“This one,” San gestured at one with pink, navy blue, and orange, “is a piece of strawberry shortcake freshly baked and made with strawberries that were just picked off the bush.

That was when Wooyoung found out that his synesthesia went beyond music and colors. It was everything in between. Vision, taste, and scent all combined to create San’s inner web of overlapping senses that made him, _him._

Wooyoung couldn’t help but feel a bit insensitive after the fact, but right after San finished explaining his painting of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 (red, green, black, and purple), he took San by the hand, pulled him in, and kissed him.

Startled, San’s lips landed on Wooyoung’s with an “mmph!” but he kissed back, hand tentatively wrapping around Wooyoung’s forearm as he melted into the kiss. Though neither of them wanted to pull away, Wooyoung took it upon himself to do so, as he was the one who made the first move, and San was left breathless, eyes wide with both disbelief and fondness.

“S-Sorry,” Wooyoung nearly whimpered, a blush the color of roses rising to his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” San assured, taking Wooyoung’s hand this time.

The two looked at each other with soft smiles, silent, but there really wasn’t anything that needed to be said.

Wooyoung was falling.

San had tilted his head curiously, blinked, and said, “You’re blue, Wooyoung. A sky blue.”

Wooyoung had absolutely no idea what that meant, but it made his heart race nonetheless. That’s what San was doing, playing his heart like the piano he mastered, and Wooyoung didn’t mind one bit.

“I don’t know why blue is linked to sadness,” San told him underneath the cotton candy pink fairy lights lining his bedposts one night. “Blue is a lovely color. If it’s because blue is a dark color, well, then any color could mean sadness.”

“What makes me blue?” Wooyoung asked him.

San sighed, sliding his head into the space between Wooyoung’s head and shoulder. “You’re the sky. Always above me, always there.”

“Are there clouds?”

San sat up, and with feather-like fingers, he reached up and cradled Wooyoung’s jaw. “Not a single one. But here—” San tapped his index finger on Wooyoung’s forehead. “—is just _one_ cloud. A pink one… and it looks like cotton candy. Big and puffy.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help the fit of giggles he broke into, but it wasn’t because what San said was ridiculous or outrageous. No, it was far from it. San was spectacular, one of a kind, and _god_ , Wooyoung loved him so much. San laughed with him, eyes wonderful and beautiful, stars that Wooyoung could stare at all night, all day, forever and more.

As much as Wooyoung wanted to say it, he held his tongue. San was free; the last thing he wanted to do was confess and tie him down. He wanted San to live his youth, live it with whoever, even if he wanted to be the one San lived it with.

As the time ticked away, Wooyoung watched and listened to San whenever he’d talk about the things he experienced, sometimes even writing them down, and fell even deeper. His heart felt like it was going to burst like a fucking balloon, and it made him wonder if that balloon would be blue just like the rest of him. He’d look at San with nothing but pure admiration, infatuated with him and everything he was, but it was _terrifying._

“Wooyoung?” San snapped his fingers in front of Wooyoung’s face. “Something wrong?”

“N-No, not really.” Wooyoung offered an awkward smile, because it wasn’t like he was thinking about how much he loved him or anything.

A smirk spread on San’s face coupled with his eyes narrowing like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, really?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“You’re cute, Wooyoungie,” San said. “You know, you’ve changed since I first met you.”

“Really? Um, how?”

“You know how I said you were a sky blue? The day you kissed me?”

How could Wooyoung forget that? “Yeah, of course.”

“You’re not a sky blue anymore,” San said, but he said it as if it didn’t mean anything bad. He was still smiling, mischievous but calm. “You’re a different shade.”

Wooyoung gulped as San leaned in to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’re a baby blue now.”

“Uh, um.” Wooyoung could feel a nervous sweat break out on his hair line, his throat suddenly shriveling as San’s face stayed only centimeters away from his. He was used to San being close, but something was different, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “W-Why’s that?”

“Well, like I’ve said, you’ve changed. But… I wonder _what_ has changed.”

And _god_ , that clever devil, didn’t stop smirking, eyes gleaming with lighthearted mischief, like he _knew._ Both of them did. San knew what changed. Wooyoung very well knew what changed. Before Wooyoung answered verbally, he reached around to grab the back of San’s head and pulled him into a kiss filled with butterflies and fireworks, because _shit_ , Wooyoung was in love.

“I love you, Choi San,” Wooyoung whispered against San’s lips, wishing he could describe San in the same way San could describe him. His lips were soft and a little chapped, but there was no color, no scent or taste that he could compare what kissing him felt like to. He was breathless, _so in love_ , and the only color he could think of was red because that was what romance was commonly associated with.

“And I love you, Jung Wooyoung.” San’s forehead rested against Wooyoung’s, fingers cupping his jaw. Both of them were breathing hard, lungs filled with love and colors, and San finally explained, “Your color changed because you fell in love. And mine did too.”

“What color were you before?” Wooyoung asked, finally and reluctantly pulling away so San could elaborate.

“I was a pastel pink,” San said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love all colors. But growing up, I was never my favorite color.”

And despite all of their late-night conversations about colors and music notes, somehow, Wooyoung never learned San’s favorite color. “What’s your favorite color?”

San sighed, that gorgeous curved smile surfacing once again. “Purple. Lilac, specifically.”

As soon as he said it, Wooyoung understood. Every single painting San had ever produced had _some_ shade of purple worked into it somehow, even if it wasn’t one of the central colors. Every single painting had a piece of San, his _favorite color_ , as a part of it. San put himself into everything he did, every note he played, every color he painted, and Wooyoung felt it. He himself felt purple.

San had poured himself into Wooyoung, and Wooyoung into San, a soft pink to a sky blue, and that was what made both of them change.

“But in all honesty, Wooyoung, you could be every shade of blue possible,” San said to him. “Like me. I’m every shade of purple. And you, every shade of blue. There are so many things that make up a person, that people can’t just be one solid color. You’re a baby blue… and so much more.”

Wooyoung knew what he knew. He knew what he could sense. He knew that San had black hair and dark brown eyes, he knew that his favorite food was any type of meat, he knew that San’s favorite color was purple, and he knew that San’s skin was soft and often covered by oversized sweaters that were heaven to touch. That was all he knew. He didn’t know what San saw in himself or any other things San could sense about his own being but whatever he did, Wooyoung hoped it was good.

“I love you,” Wooyoung said again, resisting the urge to cry. “I wish I could feel whatever you feel. I wish I understood.”

San chuckled lightly, his fingers poking out of his sweater and curling around Wooyoung’s wrist. “You don’t have to, Wooyoungie. It’s just the way things are for me, and I don’t expect it to make sense to anybody. Besides, I don’t feel the same things you do, either. We’re all wired differently, and we’re all different colors because of it. Sometimes… I feel like I can see colors that nobody else can see.”

He sounded breathless. Wooyoung wanted nothing more than to kiss him and give him his own.

“It’s a lot sometimes, I’ll admit. But Wooyoung, if you experienced the things I do…” San paused, blinking rapidly as if to dispel tears, and maybe he had been. “You’d be in a whole other world than the one we live in right now.”

Wooyoung wanted to tell San then that the world around them didn’t matter. That sure, plenty of colors existed on Earth and that the planet itself was blue and green and brown and white, at least, in the photographs he’s seen. That there were plenty of things to touch and taste and smell wherever anybody goes. That people could experience the senses at the same time. One could be eating an apple while petting a cat. But to San, the world was everything combined, where multiple senses became one. Where the senses became the other senses. It was more than just simultaneous senses.

All of San’s senses blended into one. And while that wasn’t the only thing that made San who he was, it was a massive part of him and his world.

Wooyoung, with all his shades of blue, had become a part of it.

-

They’d lain together for the first time under the same fairy lights that witnessed their love blossom. They were still pink, just like San’s rosy cheeks as the boy’s face flushed from embarrassment. He wasn’t used to his body being exposed like this, especially in front of another person who was also about to go down on him.

Wooyoung took his precious time because he loved the way San would shiver every time his fingers barely brushed his skin. He loved the tiny whimpers he was able to elicit from San whenever his lips met the dips and curves of his neck and chest. Every part of San was art, and Wooyoung wanted to cherish this moment, where he could admire the masterpiece that Choi San was, him and all his colors. Open and vulnerable, San gave himself to Wooyoung, and Wooyoung gave himself to San.

It was true passion, more than just burning reds and hot pinks. Even Wooyoung saw it that way, could _feel_ it somehow, but he could only imagine what the experience was like for San. As Wooyoung rocked into him, he gasped for breath, eyelids fluttering shut in pure euphoria. Everything San created, the paintings and the music, witnessed their creator in utter bliss, _love_ , and they shook in envy. They were beautiful, yes. San treasured his creations. But San also knew that this was something more, that Wooyoung holding him like this was more than just a piece of music, a scent, a flavor, a combination of colors.

Wooyoung was everything more than that.

A new world of colors erupted in San’s vision that night. He reached his high with Wooyoung buried deep inside him, his legs crossed and locked around Wooyoung’s back, and it felt as if his senses became so overwhelmed that they just stopped altogether.

Because there was nothing else he could sense when it was just Wooyoung.

“There aren’t enough colors in the rainbow,” San had said that night, “not enough scents or textures or flavors that exist in the world, to describe the way I feel about you.”

Under the dazzling pink fairy lights, limbs entangled and skin sticky with sweat, Wooyoung finally let himself cry, because god fucking damnit, he was in love. So, so in love with the boy who heard colors among many other things.

Never in his life did he feel so blue.

-

San loved the sea, so Wooyoung took him there for their first anniversary. The shore was vacant at night, which gave San free reign to run around with his arms stretched out, kicking up sand like it was nobody’s business and shouting, “It’s the sea!” in a shrill voice. Wooyoung watched in amusement as his quite childish lover entertained himself like that, until San eventually came full circle and zoomed right into Wooyoung’s body, knocking the wind from him. San laughed endlessly until tears formed in his eyes and threw his arms around Wooyoung, apologizing as the younger did his damned best to catch his breath.

In all honesty, though, Wooyoung was used to being breathless whenever it came to San.

“I like the sea because it’s blue,” San said once he’d calmed down.

“Oh, yeah? I’m blue too, aren’t I?” Wooyoung asked teasingly.

San, however, didn’t return the frisky nature. Instead, he smiled softly and said, “Yeah, you are. Which is why I like the sea. It’s endless, too, just like how I feel about you.”

And god, San could’ve ripped Wooyoung’s heart out then and there and he would’ve been completely okay with it. “And the sky,” San said, glancing up. The night sky was littered with stars. “You were a sky blue when I first met you, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“But you know the sky can be so many more colors. And that’s what you are. You’re more than just blue, and even further than that, you’re more than just your colors.”

Wooyoung didn’t say anything; he just took San by the waist and pulled him close, sinking into the embrace like he’d done plenty of times before.

“I love you,” he whispered against the shell of San’s ear. “I can’t… even begin to tell you how much.”

“I know,” San replied, holding him tighter. “But I’ll never get sick of you saying it.”

Wooyoung held onto that statement, hoping that it would remain true forever and more.

-

_I’m laughing as I’m writing this because he really thinks I’m good with words. I’m not. Things are way too chaotic in my brain, not to mention things are kinda fucked up up there and nobody can ever understand what I experience, but here’s what I feel at this very moment._

_I love him a lot. I love him, everything that is him, everything that could possibly remind me of him. He was a sky blue the day I accidentally opened the door on his knee, but as he fell in love with me, I could hear the change. It was almost as if the sun calmed itself on a blazing summer day, letting the vivid blue simmer to a blue much easier on the eyes. On that summer day, a lemon popsicle melted and the lawn was freshly cut. A single cloud floated by. It was pink, just like cotton candy._

_I’ve always told him about his shades of blue. I even tried to explain the other things to him, the ones I just mentioned. I know it’s hard for him to understand, and I know he feels bad that he can’t, but I can see how hard he tries. I can see how genuinely fascinated he becomes whenever I talk about my messed up brain. It makes me feel like it’s not entirely messed up. It makes me feel like a fierce flame and the color green. God, sometimes I confuse myself, but with him… he doesn’t understand, but he does at the same time._

_I never thought I’d find someone like him, but I’m so glad I did. He loves me for more than just my colors. For more than this weird thing that I have. He loves **me**._

_When I think about that summer day, with his sky and lemon popsicle, well, I think that’s him. The blue, the yellow, the green, and the pink. And so much more. There is an infinite amount of colors to be seen, an endless spectrum, and he resides at the very peak, where the raspberry iced tea and those little lime-flavored macaroons I like are. He’s really my favorite everything, isn’t he?_

_Purple… he’s purple too. My favorite color. He’s my favorite song, my favorite key signature. He’s my favorite everything._

_Man, I’m really whipped, aren’t I? Like I said, I wish I was better with words. Things get really jumbled up and don’t make sense to either of us sometimes. But what does it matter? We’re under the same sky, same stars. Even though he is the sky, the one that the both of can see is what we share. We share a lot of things._

_This synesthesia I have is not all of me, and he knows that. He likes to take moments to bring us both back down to where we can share the same world. Because yes, I can see, taste, smell, feel, and hear things that he does. While it may not be in the same way, **that** is what we share._

_We share a world._

_He is my world, and I am his._

*

Wooyoung is really bad with words, especially when it comes to San. He wants everything he says to be just as profound and poetic as the things San comes up with, but his tongue swells and his heart beats too fast and drains every ounce of saliva out of his mouth. Especially when San looks at him with those kitten eyes. Fuck.

It’s heavy. With every passing second, the weight grows in his pocket. He’s trying so hard, so hard to find the right words because this needs to be right. At the same time, he’s trying not to be a massive sap, as it’s something that San loves to poke fun at, but how can he not be a sap when he’s about to ask the most extraordinary person to love him forever?

Somehow, San has always had an infallible intuition whenever it comes to Wooyoung’s actions. Wooyoung wonders if it’s because his colors change or something, but whatever the case, San smirks at him, giving him that all-knowing _look._ “Something’s on your mind, Wooyoungie.”

He’s taken back to the day he first told San he loved him. Oh, how the rainbow has traveled across the sky, arched so perfectly across the horizon, so ethereally. A road that has led them to this moment in time. Wooyoung is riding it, and is still nowhere near the midway point. This is his journey, the beginning of it.

All the colors of the rainbow and then some have brought Wooyoung here, to San’s beloved beach, home to the sea that he loves so much because it reminds him of Wooyoung and all of his hues of blue.

“Oh, my love.” San smiles endearingly, the dimples rising to his skin. “You know I always know when something’s up.”

Wooyoung chuckles, but he’s still breathing hard, back against the sand as his heart pumps in his ribcage, feeling as if it would burst. One of his hands is intertwined with San’s while the other barely hovers over the right pocket of his jeans. He’s so nervous; he wonders if San can see the rippling waves of his sea, the thunderclouds sneaking across his sky. He’s so fucking nervous.

“Woo, you know I love you, right?” San asks suddenly.

“Yeah, o-of course,” Wooyoung says, dazed.

“So why don’t you say it?” San turns his head towards him, and it’s not even two seconds later that Wooyoung faces him too.

With brown eyes locked together, everything comes crashing down.

The sky, the sea, the blues and the purples, they’re cheering for him, telling him to do it because there’s no other way. The colors have mixed already. Blue cannot be ripped from pink. Pink cannot be ripped from blue. It’s one now. A baby blue and a soft lilac. A melted lemon popsicle on a freshly-mowed lawn. A rainbow comprised of infinite colors, an F major chord, all the stars and planets that belong to them.

And the world. The world is encouraging him too. It’s asking, _why don’t you say it?_

Feeling as if his limbs are tied to the ground, he breathes out, “Marry me.”

“I’m sorry, couldn’t hear you.”

Wooyoung sits up abruptly, the sand flying in all sorts of directions as he does. There’s probably some in his pants, but he doesn’t give a shit. San, grinning like the little devil he is, sits up too and looks at him expectantly.

With trembling fingers, Wooyoung pulls the box out of his pocket.

It feels light as a feather, like a cotton candy cloud.

_A piece of him._

“Marry me, Choi San. Allow me to love you forever.”

Time seems to stop in that moment, the world stops turning, and instead, it embraces him. It thanks him endlessly for everything he’s done, everything that he _is._ The world, _his world_ , in all of its purple, black-haired, dimple-faced glory, wraps around him and weeps.

“I will,” San sobs into his shoulder. “I will, I will, my love.”

There are a lot of things about the world Wooyoung doesn’t know, but that’s okay. He knows that the world isn’t perfect, but it’s still beautiful. There are so many parts to it that nobody, not even Wooyoung, could ever understand, but that’s okay too. He’s ecstatic to be a part of this world, in all of its struggles, confusion, victories, and triumphs.

He will remain a part of this world forever and more.

Here, by the sea with which the world has blessed him, the world curled up in the palm of his hands, he paints the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhhhh i tried y'all :/
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


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